


The Kings and an Old Love

by jaydee09



Series: Two Kings [48]
Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: A Big Decision for Thranduil, Anal Sex, Hunting, Injury, Lots of Angst, M/M, Oral Sex, Return of an Old Character, The Ultimate Reward, Was he Right or was he Wrong?, lots of love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-15
Updated: 2016-04-15
Packaged: 2018-06-02 09:43:59
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,983
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6561427
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jaydee09/pseuds/jaydee09
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A plate of roast meat or sex?  Now there’s a hard decision for Thorin to make, LOL!  A hunting trip that goes wrong makes Thranduil realise that it’s not just the forest animals who are being stalked.  Will an obligation to an old lover put him in rather a tricky position?</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Kings and an Old Love

 

 

 

.o00o.

 

**Just a note to say that, in my search for a new idea, I decided to look at all my early stories and, there, I found a character whom I thought deserved a reappearance on these pages in case some of you remember him and want to know how he has been getting along.  Hope this story isn’t too angsty and that you won’t be angry over what Thranduil decides to do when he is put on the spot.**

 

.o00o.

 

The Kings and an Old Love

 

Pt I

 

The elven king was looking very seductive in a long, silken gown, open all the way down the front, a pair of knee-high boots and nothing else.  He sat impatiently in a high-backed chair, pushed back from the dining table, one leg crossed over the other, tapping the arm-rest with a beautifully manicured fingernail and circling a booted foot with some irritation.

 

“Haven’t you finished yet?” he snapped at Thorin.

 

They had been out hunting all day and had come home tired enough that afternoon to ask for a haunch of roast venison, the fruits of their labour, to be sent up to Thranduil’s apartment when it had been cooked rather than that they descend to the dining hall.

 

The elf had eaten a delicate sufficiency of the venison and had topped it up with plenty of salad.  He and his courtiers weren’t totally averse to meat but the hunting trip had been made mainly to please Thorin and his carnivorous tastes.  A shirtless dwarven king now sat hunched over the table opposite him, devouring a huge plate of venison with gusto.  He grunted.

 

“You’re like a pig at a trough,” sneered the elf, with a supercilious lift of his lip.  He had been hoping that Thorin would be so fired up by all the meat that the dwarf would attack him just as hungrily as he was attacking his meal.  But, Thranduil had finished some time ago and, still, his lover ploughed on.

 

Thorin lifted his head momentarily and grinned.  “But a very happy pig,” he said.  A trail of meat juices trickled down towards his beard and Thranduil rolled his eyes.

 

“You’re disgusting – you know that?  I was hoping that, by this time, your carnal desires would be concentrated more on me than that haunch of venison.  Anyone would think that you preferred a plate of roast deer to sex with a king.”

 

Thorin, who had returned enthusiastically to his dinner, raised his head once more and gave the thought due consideration.

 

“Depends,” he said.

 

“Depends?!” spluttered the elf, thinking there was absolutely no question of choice in the matter.

 

“Depends on how long I’ve been without,” mused the dwarf.  “I had sex with you only this morning but I haven’t had a decent plate of roast meat here in Mirkwood for days.”  And he plunged his nose back in his trough again, trying to hide his grin.  He did so love to tease his partner.

 

But Thranduil never took well to teasing and Thorin noticed, out of the corner of his eye, that the elf was beginning to look upset as well as frustrated.  And so, he leaned back in his chair, washed down his food with a glass of wine, wiped his greasy lips on a white napkin and then sauntered around to his lover’s side of the table.

 

Well, perhaps I’ve finished now,” he murmured softly, standing before the elf.  “And I have space for some dessert.”

 

Thranduil uncrossed his marble thighs and urgently fumbled with Thorin’s belt.  Then he yanked down his breeches and, plunging his face into the dwarven king’s groin, drew the erect member into his mouth with a satisfied sigh.

 

“I thought you weren’t hungry any more,” laughed the dwarf.  But his amusement soon disappeared as the elven king set to work seriously on him.  He grabbed the elf’s hair just as Thranduil seized him tightly by the buttocks; his legs began to tremble and he came.  With a smug look, Thranduil pulled his shaken partner down onto his lap.

 

“There,” he said in a sultry whisper. “Sex with me or a plate of venison?”

 

Thorin snuggled sleepily into the king’s smooth chest.

 

“Mmm,” he grinned, gently sucking a nipple.  “Sex or meat?  Meat or sex?   Decisions, decisions.”

 

“Are you trying to annoy me on purpose?” snapped Thranduil.   “Or are you just being your normal obtuse self?”

 

“You do use big words,” yawned Thorin.  “Too big for a simple dwarf like me.  All I’m saying is, surely you have a favourite dish that you could fancy eating right now?”

 

“Yes,” said Thranduil grimly, rising to his feet with the dwarven king in his arms.  “I really feel like a serving of dwarf on a bed of mixed salad leaves.”  And he dropped a laughing Thorin down upon the table amidst a pile of lettuce, tomato and cucumber.

 

Thranduil pulled his lover towards him, separating his thighs and fitting the two of them crotch to crotch. Thorin looped his legs over the elf’s shoulders and grinned.  “Any way you want me,” he said.  Upon which Thranduil grabbed the cut glass condiment set – “Please, _not_ the vinegar, just the oil,” yelled the dwarf just in time – which he smeared all over his hands and cock before thrusting a very stiff member up Thorin’s backside. 

 

Actually, the interesting sensation of all those tomatoes squishing beneath Thorin’s body and the refreshing smell of bruised lettuce leaves in his nostrils made the whole thing quite an entertaining experience, even though a bad-tempered Thranduil pounded away at him quite roughly until they both came on a satisfying high.  Thranduil collapsed panting upon the broad, hairy chest, just as Thorin, in a final insulting gesture, reached out and wrapped a slice of venison in a large lettuce leaf which he began munching just behind the elf’s left ear.

 

“If I had the strength to strangle you, I would,” gasped the elven king.

 

.o00o.

 

In the end, it was Thorin who carried Thranduil gently to their bed.  They lay together on the pillow whilst the dwarf kissed his partner’s nose thoughtfully.

 

“You know,” he wheedled, running a large hand over the elf’s smooth buttocks, “I really enjoyed that hunting trip today and I especially enjoyed the venison.  But did you notice those boar tracks when we were returning home?  I would love to go hunting again tomorrow and see if we can find them.”

 

“Only,” answered Thranduil, with a glint in his eye, “if you can be nice to me for the next couple of hours.  Really nice.”

 

“Deal,” laughed Thorin.

 

.o00o.

 

Pt II

 

The next morning, Thranduil got out of bed with a smirk on his face.  Well, that had been worth agreeing to another hunting trip in the forests of Mirkwood, he thought.  They dressed and gathered their weapons together and then they set out on a cold, frosty morning, just the two of them, in their search for the wild boar.

 

Finding the spoor took them longer than they expected.  “I think there’s only one,” said Thorin when they finally found the tracks.  “And I would say it’s a big one.”  The deep prints made the trail easy to follow but it was mid afternoon before they found the creature and then they were far from the palace of Mirkwood.

 

It was huge, its tusks sharp as scimitars as they gleamed in the late sun.  The two kings pulled out their boar spears from the holsters strapped to the saddles before them and expected the boar to make a run for it.  Their pulses increased in expectation of an exciting race.  Instead, the boar turned on them and, after standing at bay for only a moment, lowered its head and charged at them.

 

They weren’t ready and both they and their horses were startled.  Thranduil’s horse unfortunately reared in terror as the boar met it head on and it flung the king from its saddle.  His mount would not have run far if the boar hadn’t slashed its haunch in passing so that the poor animal screamed and plunged off terrified into the trees.  Thranduil leapt nimbly to his feet and crouched with his spear at the ready.  Meanwhile, Thorin was desperately trying to control his own mount.

 

The boar charged.  Thranduil threw his spear and missed.  The elf side-stepped gracefully but now he stood unhorsed and weaponless whilst Thorin’s horse skittered in frightened circles.  The dwarven king knew he had to do something and, as the boar prepared to charge Thranduil once more, he leaped from his horse and flung himself between the elf and the terrifying creature.  The boar didn’t hesitate but plunged on.  Thorin threw his spear which struck the wild beast in the shoulder before losing its hold and falling useless to the ground.  Both kings managed to dodge the boar again but it gored Thorin in the thigh as it passed.  Then it stood panting, glaring with its little red eyes before deciding that it had won the day and trotting at a leisurely pace away into the forest.

 

Thranduil let out a gasping laugh.  “I think it recognises a superior foe!” he exclaimed, leaning against a tree and panting.

 

Thorin tried to laugh too, but then his leg gave way beneath him and he dropped to the ground.

 

“Thorin!” cried the elf.  But he had slipped away into unconsciousness.  It was only then that Thranduil realised that his partner had a serious wound.  When Thorin came to his senses, it was to discover that the elven king had pulled down his breeches and was examining his inner thigh.

 

He smiled wanly.  “Not in the mood, I’m afraid,” he murmured tiredly.

 

“Another inch higher,” was the terse retort, “and you would never have been in the mood again.”

 

The gash was deep and it was bleeding heavily and, with the return of consciousness, came the pain.  “Perhaps you can heave me onto the saddlebow of my horse and then get up behind me.  I’m sure we can make it home,” he suggested.

 

There was a long silence.  “Your horse ran after its stable-mate,” the elf finally muttered.  “Do you think you can walk?”

 

“No,” said Thorin shortly.  “And you’ve got to bind my wound.  I’m losing a lot of blood.”

 

Thranduil felt helpless as a million thoughts ran through his head: how best to tend the wound; how to get Thorin home; whether or not to leave him behind whilst he went for help; whether the dwarf could withstand the cold, lying on his own for hours, now that the sun was setting; if he should try to find one of the horses – or if this were a waste of time.  He had never felt so inadequate in all his life and he was beginning to panic as Thorin’s eyes fluttered close once more.

 

He stood up and looked helplessly into the trees.  And out of the forest and leading a horse came some unexpected help.  Ethril!  The elf whom he had thought of as a friend.  The elf who loved him.  The elf with whom he had spent one passionate night after Thorin had rejected him all those years ago in Erebor.  The elf who had tried to destroy the relationship between him and Thorin after the two had become lovers.  And the elf whom he had banished to Elrond’s court.

 

“Quickly!” said Ethril, kneeling by Thorin’s side.  “Get your shirt off and tear it into strips.”  A stunned Thranduil did as he was told before pulling his jacket and cloak tightly around him once more.  What was the elven courtier doing here?  But now was not the moment to ask.

 

The elf was clutching a clump of moss which he pressed to the wound.  “Medicinal,” he explained curtly.  Then he bound it in place with the strips of linen that Thranduil handed to him. After that, he went to his horse and took a small axe out of a bag.  Within five minutes, he had cut a selection of long, stout sticks.

 

“We’ve got to make a sort of stretcher for him,” he said.  “One that can be dragged behind my horse.”  This he efficiently constructed after cutting up a blanket which had been rolled up behind his saddle.  It made a comfortable sling between the poles.

 

Together, they eased the semi-conscious dwarf onto the travois and pinioned him into position with his fur-lined cloak.  Then, whilst Ethril led his horse, Thranduil walked behind holding Thorin’s hand.  Neither elf spoke to each other: Ethril didn’t seem to be in a communicative mood and Thranduil was afraid of saying the wrong thing: he needed his former courtier’s help too much and didn’t want to offend him.

 

.o00o.

 

Pt III

 

It seemed to Thranduil that they walked for hours and he was grateful for the bright moon that now lit their way.  Suddenly, a group of Mirkwood elves came riding towards them and Thranduil shouted in relief.  The horses had returned riderless to the stronghold and, since one of them was limping and bleeding, the elven king’s men had assumed the worst and had got together a search party.  They had a small wagon with them, fearing death or injury.

 

“You guessed right,” grimaced Thranduil, as they gently made Thorin comfortable in the wagon.  Then Ethril mounted his horse and wheeled it about.

 

“Where are you going?” asked the king sharply.

 

Ethril shrugged.  “Back to my banishment, I presume.”

 

“Not this night,” replied Thranduil.  “You have doubtless saved my partner’s life and I would reward you.”

 

The handsome courtier gave a mocking bow but followed the retinue silently.

 

.o00o.

 

It was the early hours of the morning before they reached the Mirkwood palace.  The elven physicians tended to Thorin before sedating him; then they reassured Thranduil that now all would be well.  “But Ethril should be congratulated on his speedy response,” one said, “or the dwarven king might have died.  You were very lucky that he was there with his horse and his skills to help you.”

 

Thranduil sat by Thorin’s bedside for some time, wondering about that stroke of luck.  When he saw that his lover slept deeply, he gently closed the bedroom door behind him and sent for Ethril.  It was some years since his banishment and now they stood looking quizzically at each other across the softly-lit room.

 

The elven courtier was tall, graceful and exceptionally good-looking and Thranduil realised that he had missed him.  He had been a friend for hundreds of years and had supported his king through many crises until that fateful day when Thranduil had first set eyes on Thorin, standing by his grandfather’s throne in Erebor, and had been totally smitten.  But, the dwarven prince had rejected him and, in a vengeful fury, Thranduil had returned to his palace and, going straight to Ethril’s room, had sought solace from him in a good, hard fuck.  Ethril had waited a thousand years for this and was angry and disappointed when the king had withdrawn his favours the very next day.  He had lived in hope for another 60 years – until the dwarf had returned to Erebor on his Quest and had finally taken the elf as his lover.  Then a jealous Ethril had set a very cruel trap to break the lovers apart; but his machinations had been disclosed, just as they teetered on the edge of success, and he had been banished to Elrond’s court with a broken heart.

 

“How are you, then?” the king finally asked softly.  Ethril somehow looked more strapping, more tanned and weather-beaten than he had done before.  But, it suited him.

 

“Well enough,” was the response.  And he gazed intently into Thranduil’s eyes.

 

They stood for some time, remembering their former life together.  Yes, the king missed him very much; but their friendship could never be renewed, not now he realised the depths of that obsessive love that Ethril had developed for him.  Things could never be the same.  Thorin had helped him realise his own guilt in the matter but he had been obliged to send him away – it was the only thing that he could do under the circumstances.

 

Then finally Thranduil said:  “Elrond’s court is very far away - and so, that was a very fortuitous moment when you came to our aid at exactly the time when we needed you, don’t you think?”  He made his remark into a question and left it hanging in the air.

 

Ethril stared down at his feet for a few seconds as if considering what he should say.  Then he looked up boldly.  “Not so fortuitous,” he replied.  “I have not been living in Rivendell for some time.”

 

His king raised an eyebrow.

 

“Elrond gave me leave to live in the woods where I could become a recluse and contemplate my………sins.”

 

“The woods of Rivendell are still very far from those of Mirkwood,” Thranduil pursued, his curiosity increasing.

 

Ethril finally squared his shoulders.  “If you would have the truth of the matter, then, yes, I retired to the woods but I came back in pursuit of you.  I have hidden in the forests for some time so that I could catch glimpses of you now and then as you went hunting and the like………I meant no harm.  I just needed to see you.”  And Thranduil could not help but feel sorry for his old friend, caught up as he was in his obsession.

 

He took a step forward and laid a compassionate hand on his shoulder.  “I’m sorry,” he said.  “I did not mean for this to happen.”

 

Ethril shook off his hand as if it burned him.  “Well, you can thank Eru that it did happen because, otherwise, your – lover – would be dead.  But, I have saved him and now I have come to claim my reward.”

 

Yes, the reward.  It was a relief to change the subject.

 

“You must know,” the elven king said earnestly, “that you have my undying gratitude.”

 

“It is more than your gratitude I want,” returned the courtier coldly.

 

“Yes, yes, of course,” blinked the king, slightly startled.  “I would like to invite you to my Treasury and there you can take whatever you want.  Nothing is too much.”

 

Ethril’s eyes glittered more coldly still.  “You would _pay_ me!” he spat.

 

“You want your banishment lifted then?” was Thranduil’s next question.  “I would be prepared to lift it for a month once a year but that is all I can offer.”

 

“What?” sneered the elf.  “A month in which I shall be a laughingstock as I sit despondently in a corner of your court and gaze longingly at something that I cannot have?”

 

“What do you want, then?” asked Thranduil in exasperation.

 

Ethril closed on him and seized him by the chin.  “I want _you_!” he cried.  “Nothing else will reward me for saving the life of the one you love.”  And then he pulled Thranduil into a voracious kiss.

 

.o00o.

 

Pt IV

 

The kiss was deep and passionate and a shocked Thranduil endured it for a moment. Then, wide-eyed, he pushed Ethril from him.  “What are you asking?” he gasped.

 

“I am asking to spend one night in your bed – just one night.  Not much to ask for the dwarf’s life,” was the courtier’s tight-lipped reply.

 

And perhaps it wasn’t.  The elven king’s thoughts buzzed dizzily in his head.  Was this request sexual blackmail?  And should the elf be sent away from Mirkwood once more?  Or was this a fair reward and would he be dishonourable to refuse it?

 

“I need to think,” he finally said.  “I shall come to your rooms tomorrow evening and let you know my decision.”

 

Ethril took a deep breath as if he were relieved that he had not been refused outright and he nodded curtly.  He reached out and ran a finger down his king’s cheek.  “I have waited a long time,” he said huskily.  “You used me once when you needed me and now I have done you a service for which no reward can be too high.  You owe me twice over.”  Then he leaned forward and kissed him again, this time softly and with a sad yearning.  “Tomorrow night, then,” he murmured against Thranduil’s lips.  Then he turned on his heel and left the room.

 

.o00o.

 

When the corrupt elf lord, Maelon, had sexually blackmailed Thorin, Thranduil had been furious that the dwarf hadn’t talked about it with him.  And so, he returned to the bedroom and made up a bed on the sofa next to where his injured partner was lying in a deep sleep.  The dwarf finally woke up at dawn and when he saw Thranduil lying there, he reached out and touched him.  “Come to bed,” he said gently.  “I miss you.”

 

And so the elven king carefully climbed into bed and pulled Thorin onto his shoulder.  “I have something to discuss with you,” he said, kissing the top of his head.  Thorin waited.  “Do you remember who saved you?  Because I’m afraid it wasn’t me.  I had no idea what to do.”

 

But, Thorin didn’t know, slipping in and out of consciousness as he had been.  He turned his head curiously to look up at his lover.  “It was Ethril,” the elf continued.  “Fortunately, he has been lurking in the woods for some time: you could say, in fact, that he has been stalking me because he still can’t get over his obsession.  He is in the palace at the moment and has asked for a reward for saving your life.  What does he deserve?”

 

Thorin knew all about Ethril, although he had only found out about the sexual relationship Thranduil had had with him some years after the elf had been banished.  And then he had been so furious with the way that the elven king had used him that he had walked out on his lover in disgust.  The whole event had made Thranduil see that Ethril was deserving of compassion and that he, himself, wasn’t just an innocent victim in the affair.  In fact, through Thorin’s eyes, he suddenly saw that perhaps he had been the instigator of what followed after.  There was a certain amount of guilt involved.

 

Thorin had been thinking about a reward for Ethril.  “For saving my life?” he grinned.   “Why, anything, I suppose.  Give him whatever he wants.”

 

There was a momentary silence; then: “He wants to spend the night in my bed.”

 

Thranduil felt a tremor run through Thorin’s body.  Then the dwarf said quietly: “That isn’t a surprising request, I suppose.  But you must make the decision – whatever you think is right.”

 

“I promised I would tell him tomorrow night in his apartment.”

 

“And I don’t want to know your answer,” sighed Thorin.  “I shall take my sedative and you must go and sort it out with no input from me.  Whatever you decide, I shall deal out no blame.  How can I blame any choice in such a difficult matter?”  And then he kissed the king’s white throat.  After that, they lay quietly in each other’s arms until the sun was high.

 

.o00o.

 

“I am willing to spend the night with you,” said Thranduil.  And a look of joy sprang into Ethril’s eyes.  “But, tomorrow morning you will return to Elrond’s court and make a life for yourself there.  You will come nowhere near Mirkwood again unless I decide to lift your banishment.”  The courtier nodded in agreement.

 

Thranduil stared at him for a moment.  Would the bestowing of this ‘reward’ be such a trial?  Ethril was beautiful; he had been a close friend for hundreds of years; he loved the elven king.  There should be no hardship involved in taking him to his bed.  And yet, he could not do so easily because his body belonged to Thorin: it was not his own to give away.  And even though the dwarf had absolved him from any guilt and had always been sympathetic to Ethril’s plight, yet he knew that he was going to find this decision very hard to carry through.

 

But then Thranduil braced himself inwardly.  If he were going to do this thing, it was only right that there should be no meanness of spirit involved.  And he stepped forward and took Ethril in his arms.  To his surprise, he found that the courtier was shaking.  “Don’t be afraid,” he said quietly, as he began to unbutton the elf lord’s gown.

 

.o00o.

 

When Thranduil had returned from Erebor more than 60 years earlier, with dark thoughts whirling through his head after Thorin had rejected him and after witnessing the coming of Smaug, he had been choking with anger.  He had wanted the dwarven prince and, in his arrogance, it had never occurred to him that the feeling wasn’t mutual.  The destruction of Erebor had been small satisfaction: somehow he had to show that he didn’t care that the dwarf had turned him down, that he didn’t care even that Thorin might be dead.  And he had burst into Ethril’s room with a determination to prove to himself, to that wretched dwarven prince, to the whole of Middle-earth if necessary, that Thorin meant nothing to him.

 

He had spent an entire night proving it in a most distasteful and even violent manner: it was surprising, in fact, that the elf lord had still wanted more after the way he had behaved.   But his revenge had turned to ashes in his mouth when the morning came and he realised that he might never see Thorin again; and, more importantly, that he could have helped the dwarf and all his fellow refugees from Erebor – but hadn’t.  After that, he had shut himself away for months and had never touched Ethril again.

 

Well, this time, if he wanted to assuage the shed-load of guilt from the past, things had to be different.  There was no violence.  This time, their coming together was surprisingly gentle and both felt the need to make amends.  Thranduil came to remember the closeness and warmth of their friendship whilst Ethril clung to him throughout the long night knowing that this was the last time that his king would admit him to his bed.

 

Neither of them slept and, in the hour before dawn, Ethril was moving slowly inside Thranduil again.  He knew the end of his time had almost come and he was trying to savour every sensation.

 

“I want you to promise me something,” the elven king suddenly grunted as the elf thrust steadily into him.  “Promise me that you will return to Elrond’s court and that you won’t stalk me again.”  Ethril raised his head and paused.

 

“Promise me that you will stay with Elrond and learn from him and at least make some attempt to do what I advised when I first banished you.”  His former courtier looked at him questioningly.

 

“You know that this will never happen again.  So, you must no longer live in hope but try to find someone else to love.  Stop wasting yourself when you have so much to give.”           

 

The elf returned to his thrusting and finally came.  He lay on Thranduil’s breast for a long time in silence.  And then he said quietly: “I shall try.  I shall remember this night and I shall try.”

 

The sun came up.  They rose and bathed; then the king escorted Ethril down to the stables where they said their goodbyes.  Thranduil kissed him on the forehead.  “I am so sorry that our friendship had to come to this,” he said.  “But, I hope that you eventually find happiness as I have done with Thorin.”

 

Ethril nodded in silence.  Then the elven king helped him mount his horse and he rode away into the dawn.

 

With a sigh, Thranduil returned to his apartment.  Thorin lay in bed, fast asleep and still sedated; and so he undressed and slipped in beside him.  The dwarf stirred.  “Is it all over?” he asked sleepily.

 

“Yes,” said the elf.  “He’s gone.”

 

“Good,” murmured Thorin and he curled an arm about his lover and, pulling him to his breast, fell asleep once more.

 

Thranduil tenderly rubbed his face against the silken hair upon the dwarf’s chest and slid his long fingers under Thorin’s balls.  Now he would forget all about Ethril: because this was where he belonged.  This was where he wanted to be.  And he thought, as the light grew stronger, that, whatever happened, the ultimate desire in life, the ultimate luxury, the ultimate aspiration, was to love and be loved in return.  And on that exultant and comforting thought, he closed his eyes so that he could have just one quiet hour’s sleep with his beloved before he arose to greet the day, together with his dwarven king.

 

.o00o.

 

**Well, I hope my readers aren’t too unhappy about Thranduil’s decision to spend a night with Ethril.  You can read the original Ethril story, one of my earliest, in _The Kings and the Elf Lord_.**

**And, if you missed the story right before this, then it’s called _The Kings and the Erotic Portrait_ , which is one of a group of stories involving ‘Sebastian’ and the court painter at the Mirkwood palace. The first one in that little grouping is _The Kings and a Question of Love_.**

**I’d like to thank everyone who is still reading the stories in this series: as we move further away from the screening of the Hobbit films and other epics take their place in people’s affections, it shows real dedication that some of you are still interested in this pairing.  I keep thinking that, surely, I should bring my Thorinduils to an end, but then I get a new notification of kudos or a comment and this is what prompts me to keep going.  Love and kisses, everyone!**

 

.o00o.

 

 

 

 


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